


Occupational Hazards

by VillaKulla



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse feels ridiculous for feeling so uncertain about the future. And it's a bizarre realization...but sometimes it seems like Mr. White is just about the only thing in his universe that Jesse CAN rely on. But even Jesse couldn't have anticipated just how much.<br/>Set during Hazard Pay (5x03).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupational Hazards

The house was quiet, save for the occasional static bursts coming from the TV. If Jesse really let his imagination get away with him he felt he could almost _hear_ the pests they were supposedly fumigating. Crawling up the walls, scurrying through the cracks, a tiny insistent scuttling that made his skin crawl to picture it.

 

It was why he preferred to keep his imagination front and center, locked into what was actually happening _now_. He’d had enough of his reality shaking to pieces beneath his feet, paranoia and delusions tugging him to all four corners until he was reeling and sucking in breaths of doubt, desperately reaching out and latching onto the first thing that was there. More often than not this something was Mr. White. And more often than not this didn’t always work out so well for Jesse.

                      

But still. Even if being with Mr. White sometimes left Jesse feeling like he was being beaten into the ground – and not always metaphorically – at least he had something planted beneath his feet. Better to have Mr. White driving him back down to earth than to be spinning like a kite, so high the fall would kill him, buffeted in every which direction and praying that Mr. White still felt like holding the other end of the string. The relief of being reeled back in could be so sweet that Jesse would take whatever he could get once he got there.

 

Why was he even bothering to think about this now though? He and Mr. White were _good_ , never better. That cook they’d just completed? He doubted they’d exchanged more than five words the entire time. But not because they were mad at each other, the way they’d sometimes been back in Gus’ lab. On those days they’d get through each cook with gritted teeth, avoiding eye-contact and just getting it over and _done_ with, knowing full well the second one of them opened their mouths at a bad time, catching the other one riled up, there couldn’t be any accounting for the consequences.

 

But the relative lack of words exchanged this time had been coming from a place of ease rather than agitation. The kind of ease that had Mr. White passing Jesse the pair of tongs before Jesse had even registered he was reaching out a gloved hand to ask for them. Or how Jesse would slide the tubing across the table, not even needing to look to know that Mr. White was already there to catch the other end. How the slope of Mr. White’s shoulders under the yellow suits they wore was enough to tell Jesse how long to wait before handing him a flask. And how when just a single nod from Mr. White told Jesse everything about how steps one, two, three and four had gone, a nod back from Jesse said he was already onto steps five, six, seven and eight.

 

Result? Their most seamless cook yet, and a kind of bitter amusement from Jesse that it had taken so much grief to get there.

 

But there they were, now occupying opposite ends of a stiff sofa, blue light flickering over them from the TV, just two guys on a break from work, acting like making small talk on a couch was something they did all the time, and not something that was completely new and could be isolated entirely to the past couple of days.

 

Glancing over at Mr. White who was currently gazing transfixed at the TV, Jesse had to suppress a smile. He didn’t know what had gotten Mr. White so confident lately. Okay he did but he didn’t really like to think about it too closely since it had exploded in a bloody mess, along with everything else that had been threatening them.

 

But bottom line, a confident Mr. White meant less of him turning to Jesse as an outlet for whatever was going on with him. And the less attacked Jesse felt, the more relaxed he became. He grew confident enough to even come up with suggestions of his own. And the more ideas he had, the more Mr. White seemed…pleased with him.

 

As far as the various cycles of their relationship went, this had to be the most pleasant by far. And Jesse was determined not to question it.

 

I mean hell. The TV playing some crappy black and white show they weren’t really watching, the cooler of beer propped up beside their feet, the faint sheen on sweat on both their foreheads…they looked for all the world like a couple of Joes on a break from their job in construction. It was almost too easy for Jesse to pretend they were just two guys unwinding after an honest day’s work. Well. In a manner of speaking.

 

Remove the makeshift meth lab from the equation and for all intents and purposes they were. It was as close to a slice of normalcy as Jesse could hope to have at this point in his life. Leaning back into the couch, Jesse felt the direction he’d been lacking for the better part of his adult life wash over and around him. Clinking beer bottles with Mr. White solidified it.

 

So when he said, “Yeah, it’s good right?” to Mr. White’s comments about the part of his life with Andrea and Brock, he didn’t just mean them. He meant life in general. Work, a particular co-worker, and yes, the requisite symbols of a family that put the finishing touches on this façade of normalcy Jesse had somehow managed to construct. And if he kept his head above water and worked at it then…well maybe it could become real. What was it…fake it ‘til you make it? As far as fake scenarios went, the one Jesse had was pretty darn good even just by itself. And Jesse really did love being a part of their family. There was nothing fake about that.

 

He perked his ears to what Mr. White was saying now.

 

“So is it uh…is it _moving_ in any particular…direction?” Mr. White said awkwardly, tentatively, but not unkindly at all. He quickly took a swig of his beer to cover up the fact that, well, they didn’t _really_ talk about this stuff much.

 

Jesse didn’t have an answer. He knew he _wanted_ a family with them, he just kinda figured he’d let it happen. He settled for, “If it feels right…”

 

He was both relieved and grateful when Mr. White nodded and finished for him, “If it feels right it feels right,” like Jesse had just said something Mr. White found satisfactory, or worthy of consideration.

 

But then Mr. White added “Sometimes you just gotta listen to your gut.” Which. Okay well there went the warm feeling of security in which Jesse had been basking. Listening to his gut? Yeah, not so much one of Jesse’s stronger suits.

 

He could admit it too. Jesse didn’t trust his inner voice one teenth, and this was on the rare occasions he could actually find it. The last time he’d acted on his instincts he’d almost screwed them over in a spectacular fashion and the results had come so close to being fatal for Mr. White. All because Jesse was too unreliable to be trusted by anyone, including himself.

 

But all’s well that ends well. Mr. White was still here, still beside him, and giving Jesse advice on his love life, of all things. Jesse didn’t laugh at this fact, but he kind of wanted to.

 

Jesse pushed past his momentary self-doubt to spew a platitude of which he knew Mr. White - the ultimate family man - would approve. “I mean, instant family…what more can you ask. Right?” And he felt a momentary rush of satisfaction when Mr. White confirmed it with a warm: “Absolutely.”

 

But then the question Jesse wanted most _not_ to hear: “Have you thought about what your plan is?”

 

Jesus, did it matter? For a second Mr. White sounded so much like Jesse’s parents, lecturing him about things like _accountability_ , or _responsibility_ , or _your future, Jesse_. Words Jesse would never be able to hear without being thrust back into his bedroom at his parents, one of them hanging in the doorway harping at him, when all Jesse wanted was just some fucking _peace_.

 

He suppressed his agitation however, and reached out to grab the remote and click the sound off the TV. Mr. White looked at him in surprise, Jesse’s eyes burning and voice tenser than it had been all evening.

 

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said carefully, feeling a bit relieved when Mr. White nodded.  He suspected Mr. White had still been asking about his future with Andrea on a purely romantic level, but hey, ‘who knew what’ had to come up sometime.

 

He defended Andrea a bit, adding on: “But I never told her anything. I’m not gonna.”  But he wasn’t sure how much was getting through that inscrutable head of Mr. White’s.

 

“I mean it,” he added softly.

 

And then felt like an ass when Mr. White looked genuinely surprised and said, “I know you do.”

 

He was about to relax when Mr. White added, “Jesse I can’t pretend that this doesn’t affect me, it does. But with everything we’ve been through, the two of us…” and Jesse went quiet in remembrance, tapping down a wave of guilt. He couldn’t help feeling, sitting here now, that this ‘everything’ they’d been through was largely due to his own stupidity.

 

Which is why the last thing he was expecting was for Mr. White to say softly but firmly, “This has to be your decision. I mean you’ve earned that.”

 

Jesse didn’t know what he was hearing. “Seriously?” Jesus, how did Mr. White even still want to put up with him, let alone offer him his own choices.

 

Mr. White was talking about secrets now but Jesse was only half listening. He knew Mr. White thought he was thinking about Andrea and what he could or should tell her…but he was just thinking about Mr. White. How no matter who he brought into his life, it all trickled down to Mr. White, there at the center of this bizarre solar system that was now Jesse’s life, all other aspects revolving slowly, steadily around him. It didn’t matter how removed some of his decisions felt from Mr. White…he’d always be there, driving their orbit. Andrea was the one Jesse _should_ talk to about everything…Gale, the meth, everything. But when it came right down to it, Mr. White was the only one he _could_ tell. And how had this become his life?

 

Jesse refocused when he realized Mr. White had paused for longer than usual. He looked over at the man sitting beside him, who seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. Jesse waited.

 

“I’m just trying to say that I trust you,” Mr. White said softly. “And...I know you’ll make the right call.”

 

Jesse didn’t even know how to react. He didn’t know what his face was doing and he almost wanted to bite down on his lip. As though he could _actually_ physically brace himself from the wash of emotion rushing over him at the statement straight from the horse’s mouth: Mr. White trusted him. Mr. White trusted _him_.

 

Everything else was irrelevant in the face of this simple assertion from Mr. White. It didn’t matter what happened because holy shit, Mr. White just said he _trusted him_. Nothing else mattered, other than not letting him down.

 

Because no matter what people like Gus could offer him, from validation and ego-boosting, to fancy benefits, exotic opportunities…it didn’t matter. So what if their new venue was hardly a superlab. So what if the couch they were sitting on was stiff and stained with god knows what, and was probably crawling with pests. Gus might have been able to offer Jesse state of the art equipment, and a poolside lounge chair for his breaks, all the benefits in the world. None of it could possibly mean more to Jesse than just hearing one sentence from the tired, unglamorous, weathered man sitting next to him, apparently oblivious of the gift he’d offered Jesse. Jesse didn’t need anything else.

 

But…trusting him to make the right decisions? Jesse was still processing the first part, enjoying the glow it had inspired, that the last thing Mr. White said sent a zing of panic through him when his brain finally caught up to it. Make decisions?

 

Mr. White was saying something else while reaching for the remote to turn the TV back on, but Jesse’s head was spinning. ‘ _NO_ ,’ he almost wanted to scream. Mr. White couldn’t, oh god he couldn’t _leave_ him like that, let Jesse fester in his own mind that he barely knew. He wanted to beg Mr. White, plead with him to make his decisions for him, why did _Jesse_ have to decide? They were good now, they could make decisions together. Jesse could offer _help_ , enjoy Mr. White’s praise if it was useful but – but he couldn’t _decide_ oh god Mr. White couldn’t make him.

 

Mr. White settled back against the sofa, oblivious to the existential crisis happening in the shape of his lab partner sitting next to him. Jesse suddenly shot forward, arm snaking out to yank the remote off the table to mute the TV again.

 

Mr. White turned to him and was about to open his mouth when he saw Jesse’s face. His lips were clenched and he was breathing short, shuddering, not-quite controlled breaths.

 

“Jesse?” he asked tentatively, confused.

 

Jesse had his eyes fixed firmly on the screen but he wasn’t taking it in. He managed to swallow.

 

“Mr. White can you…can you say something?”

 

Mr. White eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

 

“Yeah you know just,” one of Jesse’s breaths came in more ragged than the last and he gripped the cushion of the couch he was sitting on. “Just…keep talking.”

 

“Keep talking?” Mr. White sounded like he was trying very hard to suppress a sarcastic tone, to keep up their previous civility. But Jesse wouldn’t have cared either way. He would have welcomed one of Mr. White’s cutting asides or snide remarks at Jesse’s expense. It would have been an almost sweet relief. He could work with the familiar. He couldn’t work with an uncertain future that he was expected to resolve.

 

“Yeah man, can you just…please just keep talking, Mr. White,” Jesse got out in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut. What was _wrong_ with him? He probably shouldn’t have accepted beer but – but it was just _beer_ , man. He couldn’t resist something as beautifully mundane as beer with a coworker. But if that’s partly what was getting him so agitated…another spike of panic shot through him, oh Jesus, what was happening to him right now.

 

“Mr. _White_ ,” he gasped, practically pleading.

 

Walt gaped at Jesse, making another quick assessment of the clenched eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the white-knuckled grip on the couch cushions. Oh shit shit _shit_ , Jesse wasn’t supposed to actually…Walt didn’t mean for him to…

 

“Do you know when they first invented colour TV?” Walt nodded at the flickering television, even though he knew Jesse couldn’t see the motion with his eyes squeezed shut, trapped as he was inside his head. Walt tried to keep his voice as light as possible.

 

Jesse shook his head in a small, jerky motion, tendons standing out in his neck.

 

“1953,” answered Walt. “But it took ten years for it to actually catch on, can you believe that?”

 

Jesse shrugged tightly, eyes still shut.

 

“ _Ten_ years,” chuckled Walt. “That’s how long it took for people to warm to it. You’d think once the technology made it possible that people would have _leapt_ on it, but they just weren’t…interested, I guess. It didn’t actually become a … “ - Walt waved his hand aimlessly - “…a _standard_ until the 1960s.”

 

Jesse sat silently beside him. Walt cast an eye over him, taking stock of the rate of his breathing. Still not good.

 

“Oh hey, now _here’s_ something interesting,” he said suddenly. “You know NBC?”

 

He glanced at Jesse who wasn’t reacting. He continued as though Jesse had.

 

“Yup, NBC. Come on, even you must have seen it on one of your cartoon breaks. Oh wait no, MTV, that’s what you guys watch isn’t it?” Walt broke off acting like he wasn’t peering at Jesse. Did Jesse’s mouth look a little less taut?

 

“But what’s interesting isn’t the network, it’s the _logo_ ,” Walt said. “Can you think of what it is?” he paused.

 

Jesse loosened his hold on the couch slightly. “It’s the bird,” he muttered, and swallowed.

 

“That’s good, Jesse,” said Walt warmly, sounding for all the world like they were in a classroom and Jesse had just gotten a question right. “Do you know what kind of bird?”

 

Jesse still held himself like a coiled spring but he managed to turn the beginnings of a disdainful eye at Walt. “It’s a peacock,” he said, in the same tone of voice he used when he thought Walt was treating him like an idiot.

 

“Right again,” said Walt easily. “When they made the switch to colour TV they wanted everyone to be aware of it. And what better way of doing that than having their logo as a bird known for, well, colour? Hence the rainbow logo that they still use now.”

 

Some fun fact. But Walt was desperate. He looked Jesse up and down. Jesse’s breathing seemed to be more or less back to normal but he was biting his lip harder than could be healthy.

 

“Ten years,” repeated Walt in a softer voice. He saw Jesse lean in almost imperceptibly, so he knew Jesse was at least listening. “Ten years for people to accept progress. Sometimes we don’t always recognize a good decision right away but hey, I guess that’s what hindsight is for.”

 

Jesse was staring at the TV, eyes lost.

 

“Some decisions are inevitable,” said Walt. “And it’s hard to realize them immediately, or realize the people behind them usually know what they’re doing.” He shrugged. “As long as we get there in the end.”

 

Jesse was silent. He didn’t move, just kept his eyes locked on the muted TV. Walt waited, not wanting to spook him. Then Jesse tilted his head back towards him.

 

“When did you say they invented colour TV again,” he mumbled.

 

“1953,” Walt said automatically.

 

Jesse nodded. “When were you born?”

 

“1959,” said Walt, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “Why?”

 

“Unbelievable,” said Jesse in a low voice. He then turned his head fully towards Walt. “There’s something older than you.” And he gave Mr. White a weak smile.

 

Walt stared at him for a long beat. And then shocked himself by snorting an involuntary, but genuine laugh.

 

He was unprepared for the rush of relief that accompanied Jesse’s straightening up on the couch. Jesse let out one more slightly rattled breath, but his eyes had lost that distant look from before and he was holding himself more loosely.

 

As Jesse rubbed his face he looked over at Mr. White who was watching him and doing a very bad job of hiding his concern. Did he also look…guilty? Oh god he was probably blaming himself just because Jesse was pathetic enough to freak out over…he didn’t even know what. He took another deep breath, feeling his heart slow marginally.

 

“Sorry,” he finally said, scratching his knee, avoiding Mr. White’s gaze. “I uh, I don’t really know what that was.”

 

“Hey hey hey,” said Mr. White turning a little more towards him. “You’ve seen a lot more than most people, Jesse. You’re…allowed to feel it sometimes.”

 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Walt turned to Jesse, opening his mouth, forehead creasing.

 

“Do you get a lot of those?” he frowned slightly.

 

Jesse bit his lip, playing dumb. “A lot of what?”

 

“Of…of panic attacks, Jesse,” Mr. White said uncertainly, like just saying it would set off another one.

 

God Jesse was so embarrassed. All he needed right now was for Mr. White to think of him as some kind of loose cannon, just when things were starting to flow smoothly for them. He just shrugged and hunched in on himself.

 

“Not really. I don’t know if I’d even call it that, man. Sometimes when I was younger I’d get stressed I guess, just from – well just from stuff. But I guess I always had weed or whatever to take the edge off, I don’t really remember it much.” He flexed his fingers. “There were _moments_ but I don’t know…it was never a _thing_. That was uh, that was a first.”

 

Mr. White hummed thoughtfully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Jesse snorted but then felt bad, since Mr. White had essentially just got him through…whatever that was…by doing just that: talking to him.

 

“Nah it’s cool,” he said, going for casual. But when Mr. White turned away to face forward, Jesse reached out and caught the fabric of his suit.

 

“Thank you though, I…I mean it,” he said. He dropped the corner of material he was clutching and shrugged. “Sometimes the future…not knowing…you know?” he finished lamely.

 

He couldn’t see Mr. White’s eyes, the images of the TV screen filling his glasses. But he nodded once at Jesse.

 

“Glad to help,” he said. Jesse still couldn’t tell if Mr. White was looking at him, the TV reflecting from the lenses. “And I do know the feeling. But even so…Jesse you know I’m – “ he shifted uncomfortably and waved a hand absently before dropping it again. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

 

Jesse sat in silence just staring at Mr. White. He felt like he was waiting for something. And when Mr. White angled his head slightly, the reflection of the TV slipping off his lenses, revealing just Mr. White’s eyes which were looking at Jesse in both concern and care, Jesse felt his previous tension immediately become more subdued.

 

He huffed out a laugh and saw Mr. White tilt his head.

 

“Nothing it’s just,” he looked back up at Mr. White. “I can’t believe that actually makes me feel _better_ ,” he snorted. And he smiled tentatively at Mr. White.

 

Mr. White opened his mouth for a moment and then let it close, giving Jesse what was almost a smile.

 

They looked at each other and seemed to almost nod, as though they’d decided something with the same nonverbal shorthand they’d always used in the lab, no matter how long they’d been cooking together. Both leaned forward at the same time somewhat guardedly, stopping to look at each other from across the couch. Then Mr. White gave his eyes a slight roll, pressing his lips together and nodding again, and reached out to pull Jesse forward and hug him around the shoulders, suit fabric giving a slight rustle.

 

Jesse was stiff at first because…because come on, he and Mr. White were not _huggers_. But he felt Mr. White give his back a quick rub and he just relaxed, not bothering to think about it.

 

Jesse wrapped his arms around Mr. White’s waist. Mr. White cleared his throat and patted his back a few times. And they awkwardly held onto each other for a beat longer on this borrowed couch, the borrowed TV flickering in the background.

 

When Mr. White made as though to withdraw, Jesse involuntarily tightened his arms where they were resting around Mr. White. He knew Mr. White had turned his head to look at him from the breath on his neck.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Mr. White’s shoulder. “Can we just…I think I need – “

 

He actually had to stop that sentence because of how pathetic it sounded already. But it was true that the second he’d held onto Mr. White he had felt the last of his nerves slip away.

 

Mr. White paused. And Jesse felt him nod once before leaning back in, wrapping his arms around Jesse’s shoulders again. Jesse settled against him, resting his head on Mr. White’s shoulder. He shut his eyes.

 

Walt ran a hand up and down Jesse’s back. Not slowly, but not a brisk motion either, just…easy.

 

“This okay?” he asked. And he heard Jesse’s answering hum of approval. So he continued to rub circles into Jesse’s back, digging in where he felt any tightness, feeling the tension start to bleed away. Jesse sighed and leaned against his chest, the material of their suits crinkling together. Walt felt him adjust his arms so that his hands were resting more easily on Walt’s back, curled into loose fists.

 

In order to push down the wave of guilt that was threatening him at the moment, Walt lifted one hand from where it was massaging Jesse’s back to cup his head, clumsily stroking the buzzcut. And in a quick, impulsive moment, he pressed a brief, dry kiss to the side of Jesse’s hair.

 

He felt Jesse give a slight jolt, but he wasn’t moving away. In fact, Walt felt the pair of hands resting on his back tighten suddenly, pulling at the fabric of the yellow suit they clutching. So Walt continued to lightly run a hand over Jesse’s back, alternating between rubbing gently and kneading wherever he found knots.

 

Walt was just aimlessly working Jesse over, not really paying attention, surprised by how calm he felt delivering these ministrations. He was rather enjoying himself. He didn’t notice how low his hand was getting until he was digging his fingers into the small of Jesse’s back.

 

Jesse arched suddenly, hissing out a breath, and Walt stopped immediately. Jesse shot back out of Walt’s arms, taking the warmth with him.

 

“Oh sorry, did I hurt you?” asked Walt, alarmed. He was also more than a little embarrassed at how involved he’d really felt, but covered up it up by eyeing Jesse in a show of concern.

 

“Nah you didn’t,” muttered Jesse, making as though to turn away from Walt. But not before Walt noticed that under his wrinkling suit, Jesse was…was Jesse…?

 

Jesse followed Walt’s gaze to his lap and groaned, immediately closing his legs and leaning over, knowing it was useless, knowing that Walt had already seen –

 

“It’s nothing,” he said forcibly, but blushing harder than Walt believed was biologically possible. He scrubbed his fingers over his head.

 

Walt realized he was still staring at Jesse’s lap. He wrenched his eyes up to where Jesse sat hunched over, face stained red, looking furious with himself.

 

“It’s okay,” said Walt quickly and shrugged, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. The _last_ thing he needed was for Jesse to have another meltdown.

 

“ _Okay_?” asked Jesse in a high-pitched voice, breath coming fast. He sounded like he was in disbelief about what was happening. But he still managed to spit out: “no it’s not okay, you should be thinking I’m a fucking _mess_. And you know what? You’d be right.”

 

He laughed a little wildly on the last part and Walt winced. This wouldn’t do.

 

And without even stopping to process the idea, he reached out and gripped Jesse’s knee, creasing the fabric there.

 

All the shock Jesse had been directing at himself a moment before suddenly swung around to Walt, and Walt felt walloped over the head by the astonishment in Jesse’s gaze.

 

He glanced down at his hand on Jesse’s knee, the shadowed skin standing out like a bruise against the garish yellow of the suit, and really _looked_ at it, looked at the image of his hand on Jesse’s leg, after realizing Jesse was hard.

 

“Dude,” said Jesse, stupefied. “What. The. Hell.”

 

Walt was asking himself the same question but refused to back down under Jesse’s gaze. He looked back at him defiantly, like someone who knew exactly what he was doing and not just acting on a hunch. And he very deliberately squeezed his hand where it fit easily around Jesse’s leg.

 

Jesse sucked in a breath, eyelids drooping for a minute.

 

“This okay?” asked Walt casually.

 

Jesse snapped his eyes open again to glare at him. But then he quickly deflated.

 

“Come on, man,” he muttered looking disgusted. But not with Walt.

 

Walt hesitated for a moment. He could stop right now. Have Jesse stay agitated…leave him restless and questioning himself…no he couldn’t.

 

So he slid his hand up Jesse’s leg, massaging his thigh the same way he’d done to Jesse’s back, rolling his fingers in slow circles and pressing them briefly into the skin before rubbing lightly.

 

“This okay?” he murmured.

 

Jesse gaped at him. And then he reached down, forcibly grabbed Walt’s hand, and shoved it into his crotch.

 

“ _This_ okay?” he said mockingly, and exaggeratedly thrust against Walt’s palm.

 

Walt froze, caught unprepared. Jesse’s fingers digging into his, feeling Jesse hard under his hand…

 

Jesse smirked humorlessly, knowingly. But before he could release Walt’s hand, Walt just looked him dead in the eye.

 

“Yes,’ he said simply. And Jesse’s smug smile dropped from his face, mouth opening in surprise. They made the most unlikely picture: two men in hazmat suits on a couch in a dark room with no light except for what was coming from a silent TV, one holding the other’s hand against his straining crotch, both of their eyes burning a hole in each other’s faces.

 

Walt nodded at him. And lowering his voice he said: “Do it again.”

 

Jesse hesitated. Walt looked at him from over his glasses.

 

“Do it, Jesse,” he ordered. And biting his lip, Jesse splayed his hand over Walt’s and rocked up into it, inhaling sharply.

 

He stared at Walt questioningly, almost as though he were checking to see if it really was okay. Walt’s lips parted.

 

“Again.”

 

And never breaking eye contact with Walt for a second, Jesse tilted his hips and rubbed lightly but deliberately against Walt’s palm, eyes going slightly glassy.

 

Walt held his hand between Jesse’s legs, still not doing anything with it except willing it to stay still while the outline of Jesse’s cock dragged over it.

 

He kept it there even when Jesse released his hand. He barely had time to wonder what Jesse was doing when he felt himself being pushed back against the arm of the sofa. He lay back, sprawled inelegantly with his hand still covering Jesse’s erection and felt Jesse clamber on top of him. Jesse placed his hands on Walt’s shoulders and Walt let himself be pushed further into the arm of the couch.

 

And braced on top of Walt, gripping him by the shoulders, Jesse ground down into Walt’s hand, whimpering at the change in angle.

 

Nothing could have prepared Walt for the way the sound went straight to his groin, and he felt his breathing speed up. He forced himself to keep his hand stationary.

 

Jesse looked down at him, gaging his reaction. And seeing that Walt wasn’t moving, he dug his fingers deeper into Walt’s skin. And he thrust against Walt’s hand in slow, pulsing rolls that caused his eyes to lose focus.

 

Walt felt Jesse’s ragged breath tickling his face while he lay there under Jesse, while Jesse was essentially getting himself off against Walt’s motionless hand.

 

But when Jesse licked his lips leaving them wet and shining, and when he let out a low groan, Walt couldn’t hold back and he closed his fingers desperately around the outline of Jesse’s erection and squeezed.

 

Jesse let out a strangled gasp, hips stuttering, tipping forward on top of Walt.

 

Walt stroked him slowly, all the way up and then back down again, hand sliding easily over the slippery material of the suit, cradling Jesse’s balls, rolling them in his palm and sliding his hand back up again, pressing against the line of Jesse’s cock, gripping it firmly through the cloth. And just like that it was now Walt getting Jesse off.

 

Jesse lifted his head to look at Walt, eyes foggy, somewhat unsure, but with a hint of awe. Walt just squeezed him again in response and Jesse moaned and dropped his head, pushing harder into Walt’s hand.

 

Walt felt Jesse adjust his hands so that they were now resting closer to his neck, his fingertips brushing the skin of Walt’s throat above the collar of his suit. He spread his legs giving Walt more room while he jerked Jesse over his clothes. Jesse panted and continued to thrust against him.

 

Walt kept up the rhythm and somehow managed to bring his legs up onto the cushions, shoving them under Jesse’s so that he was now lying fully on the couch. Jesse leaned over him, pushing a leg forward for more leverage. And when he did, his knee pressed right against Walt’s groin, where he could feel how achingly hard he was.

 

Walt huffed out a breath and couldn’t resist raising his hips so he could rub a little against Jesse’s leg. Jesse let out a strangled sound and pushed his knee further against him, continuing his grinding motion down against Walt’s hand.

 

Walt felt one of Jesse’s hands trail down the line of his throat, his chest, his stomach…he felt a stab of alarm when he realized where Jesse’s hand was going. For one moment his vision went white and he had a sudden image of Jesse pulling him free of his clothes, slowly jerking him off him with that expression of concentration that looked so vivid on the occasions it found its way to his face, licking his lips, bending his head down to wrap them around Walt, pulling him inside –

 

A shudder ripped its way through Walt’s whole body, and he quickly let go of where he was stroking Jesse to grab his hand and place it back against his neck. He shook his head at Jesse.

 

Jesse looked down at Walt, confused. Not that Walt blamed him but he – he couldn’t let Jesse…this was already one thing. One crazy, feverish, bizarre thing, no question. But if they went all the way down that road Walt couldn’t predict what he might do, where he’d take Jesse…if Jesse would even _like_ it.

 

Jesse looked like he was about to say something. But Walt tugged Jesse down, bit by bit, to bring him closer on top of him, their chests now pressed flush together. Their faces were inches apart. And keeping his eyes fixed on Jesse’s, Walt lifted his chin almost imperceptibly, opening his mouth the tiniest bit. Jesse stared down at him questioningly, lips parted, huffing out the occasional longing breath. And when Walt nudged his chin up again, looking at Jesse through lowered eyelids, Jesse bent down hesitantly. And slowly, cautiously, and shaking all over, he placed his lips carefully against Mr. White’s.

 

Their lips were just _barely_ grazing and it was still the most surreal thing, the most dreamlike position for them to be in. It was _insane_ but somehow…appropriate.

 

Jesse moved his lips against Walt’s, still hardly touching them. Walt was getting just glimpses of the shape of Jesse’s mouth, its corners, from each minute brush of Jesse’s lips over his. He knew his pulse was going a mile a minute.

 

When Jesse finally pressed down more firmly, Walt released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. And Jesse actually _kissed_ him, lightly but undeniably. His lips were cool and tasted like beer, and they slid against Walt’s easily.

 

Jesse ran his mouth over Walt’s lips, top and bottom, pulling gently at them with his own, flicking his tongue lightly against them, getting the barest tastes of him. And softly pressing one kiss to the corner of Walt’s mouth, he drew back and stared at Walt, pupils blown wide.

 

Walt reached under Jesse’s chest, fumbling to grab the zipper of his suit, which was swinging with every movement from their bodies. Managing to catch it, he then started to slide it all the way down. Jesse was still shaking and eased his forehead against Walt’s. He reached back so he could shrug the top half of his suit off his torso. And then placing his hands on either side of Walt’s face he tentatively nudged his face forward again, catching Walt’s lips in another light, unhurried kiss. Like he wanted to but couldn’t believe it was okay.

 

Walt shifted to better accommodate Jesse’s weight on top of him. And lifting his hands he started to stroke Jesse’s sides, running them up and down his ribs in a soothing motion. Jesse’s lips parted slightly and Walt took advantage by kissing him properly. Not hard, not deeply, but no longer staying pliant under Jesse’s mouth while he let Jesse taste him.

 

And keeping one hand braced against Jesse’s chest over the black t-shirt they both had to wear for this pest control ruse, he lowered the other to the fly of the standard issue uniform jumpsuit they each needed, and began to unhook them. When he slid a hand inside to actually grip Jesse over the skin, Jesse gasped into his mouth, hips bucking forward.

 

His thigh was pressed over Walt’s lap and Walt felt it rubbing his own aching erection and bit back the longing sound that threatened to appear. But focusing on Jesse’s, Walt ran a thumb over the head of Jesse’s cock. He took the briefest of moments to appreciate the fact that _never_ could he have even begun to consider them being in this position as an actual reality. But he pushed thoughts of their history to the side to pay attention to the here and now, which was Jesse’s bare cock resting heavily in his hand. And swiping the tip again, eliciting a full-body shudder from Jesse, as well as an increase in pressure against his lips, he ran his hand down the entire smooth length, squeezing harder as he slowly dragged it back up again.

 

Jesse broke away from Walt’s lips and dropped his head to the crook of Walt’s shoulder, letting out a choked, whining sound. Wrapping a hand around the back of Walt’s head he buried his face into his neck, keeping his mouth against the skin.

 

Walt stroked along his shaft again, establishing a slow unhurried rhythm, keeping his hand loose on the downstroke, tightening it and letting his fingers drag while going up, squeezing just under the head, pressing against the nerves. He kept up this pattern of squeezing and stroking and felt Jesse’s fingers digging into the back of his skull while Jesse’s hips made small, needy thrusts on top of him, wanting more pressure.

 

Walt gave it to him, closing his hand down around Jesse fully and twisting it while he brought it back up. Jesse yelped at the friction and tightened his arms around him, pressing his mouth against the side of Walt’s neck. Walt repeated the motion and felt Jesse’s lips slide over his skin, tongue darting out to paint the small, occasional stripe over Walt’s skin.

 

Walt continued to jack him, still leisurely in the pace itself but more direct and firm in the actions. Occasionally he broke off the pressure of his hand to rake his nails lightly against Jesse’s shaft. Jesse gasped against his skin making desperate, whimpering sounds. And…was he saying something? Walt perked up his ears, while his hand still worked its way along Jesse’s length.

 

“Mr. White,” he heard Jesse breathe, and Walt made a strangled noise, trying to suppress the moan his whole body seemed to want him to make.

 

“Mmm?” His hand tightened around Jesse.

 

“Can you – “

 

“What is it, Jesse.” Walt’s other hand went around to Jesse’s back to pull him closer against his chest.

 

Jesse breathed heavily at their bodies pressed fully together, while Walt continued to stroke him in motions that were torturously slow. And in a low, embarrassed voice, he asked Mr. White for the second time that night:

 

“Can you keep talking?”

 

Jesse muttered the words so quietly it took Walt a second for it to process. And when it did –

 

“You’d like that?” Walt asked him slowly, voice rumbling.

 

He couldn’t have _imagined_ how frantically Jesse pushed into his hand, or the high, keening sound that had worked its way out of Jesse’s throat. Holy shit.

 

“Jesse,” he said in a low voice, twisting his hand. “Would you like that?”

 

Jesse bit down on Walt’s neck and Walt shivered, momentarily going weak. But he squeezed Jesse tighter and kept his voice authoritative:

 

“Say it, Jesse. I want to hear you say it.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Jesse got out, rubbing his face against Walt’s neck, burying it in the groove where it met Walt’s shoulder.

 

“Yes what? Come on, Jesse,” Walt said huskily, encouragingly. “You can do it.”

 

“I like it,” gasped Jesse, thrusting against Walt’s hand.

 

“Good,” said Walt, enjoying the whine against his shoulder that the word had immediately produced. Jesus this was actually _insane_. Somehow it was even more unimaginable than what they’d already been doing, what Walt had initiated. Or had it been Jesse? Or a mix of both of them always getting caught up in themselves, lashing out with separate intentions and colliding somewhere in the middle for a few burning moments, before staggering from the fallback?

 

He began to rub faster up along the length of Jesse’s shaft. “You do like it, don’t you?” he breathed into Jesse’s ear. For a second he hesitated, in a rare moment of not knowing what words to say next. But feeling Jesse’s head turn so he could press his lips against his throat, they seemed to rush towards him all at once.

 

“You want it so much, don’t you, Jesse,” he gasped, and Jesse rocked harder against him, pushing against Walt, fucking into the space of his hand.

 

“That’s good, Jesse, you just keep going,” rumbled Walt, timing his strokes with Jesse’s thrusts so that Jesse would either be pushing into a warm, tight fist, or pulling back with fingers pulling loosely over his skin. “That’s good,” Walt repeated, and Jesse practically sobbed into his shoulder.

 

“Don’t stop, Jesse, I know you’ve got it in you,” he purred, and Jesse’s body gave an uncontrollable jerk, and he thrust faster. Walt rubbed his chin against the side of Jesse’s face, scratching the skin. “That’s it.”

 

“Holy… _fuck_ ,” breathed Jesse, squeezing his arms around Mr. White and bucked his hips furiously. Walt breathed in sharply and rubbed him faster, abandoning any finesse, just frantically stroking the front of Jesse’s cock with the flat of his hand.

 

Jesse whimpered and ground against his hand in desperate circles, biting down on Walt’s skin.

 

“Come on, Jesse,” he murmured, making Jesse feel the vibrations against his chest. “I know you can do better than that.”

 

Jesse stilled for a moment, breathing heavily. And then in one quick movement he hooked his arms under Walt’s shoulders, craned his neck to press his lips against Walt’s, and bore down to shove his bare cock against Walt’s lap, Walt’s hand getting pushed aside in the process. And kissing Walt harder than he had before, he rubbed their hips together in a frenzy.

 

Walt was so turned on he thought he would burst but – but oh god he needed to focus on Jesse, Jesse who was bucking against him, deep, aching thrusts that he put his whole back into, moaning into Walt’s mouth.

 

Walt wrapped his arms around Jesse’s back, pulling him closer and tilting his head, deepening the kiss, feeling Jesse’s tongue graze his. He arched up against Jesse’s hips, running his hands down Jesse’s back, gripping his ass under the suit and pressing it hard against him.

 

Jesse groaned and rubbed faster against Walt’s erection, squeezing his arms around him, pumping his hips wildly, lips going slack, eyes unfocused.

 

Walt tore his lips away from Jesse’s to place them beside Jesse’s ear:

 

“Good boy,” he breathed against the skin.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jesse yelled, and his hips went taut, quivered once, and he was spilling all over the front of Mr. White’s suit, long pulses that came over and over, jerking his body each time. He pressed his lips against Walt’s one more time, working them open while he shuddered through the aftershocks. He then broke away and let his head fall back to Walt’s shoulder, collapsing on his chest, breathing heavily.

 

Walt was panting. He wanted so badly to pull Jesse down closer, thrust up against his slack, pliant body that was still heaving on top of his. But he disengaged his arms from him and tipped Jesse to the side, trying to be fast but gentle about it. He staggered to the bathroom around the corner, unbearably stiff.

 

He stumbled inside, not bothering to shut the door, and reached for the lightswitch while trying to rip off the top of his suit at the same time.

 

He flicked it on and the light was blinding after having sat for so long in the dark. Its yellow glare threatened to burn through the images of the cool, shadowy room he’d just been in, and he squeezed his eyes shut, locking in the image of Jesse moving over him, blue light from the TV reflecting in flickering waves of his face, lighting up his eyes in flashing bursts…

 

He stumbled to the toilet while unbuttoning his jumpsuit, working his arms loose. And he shoved down the pants, erection finally free, the cool air on it almost too soothing to take. He thrust his hand into the wetness that was dripping off the front of his yellow suit where Jesse had just come against him, coating his palm. And bringing his hand back up he smeared his cock with it.

 

A low groan tore its way from deep inside his chest and he pumped himself desperately, hand slipping fast over Jesse’s slickness which he rubbed furiously over his cock, sliding easily into his own fist.

 

He thrust harder into his hand, once more, and was coming so hard he had to press his other hand to his mouth, biting around the muffled shout he couldn’t help.

 

He removed his hand to brace himself against the wall, and stood there chest heaving, hips still rocking forward into his other hand even though there was nothing left. He wanted to stay there and come down from it properly but he had to move fast. He quickly cleaned the area, wiping down himself and the suit with some toilet paper, which he then flushed, straightening out his clothes. Thank god these suits were waterproof. And turning off the light he went back out to the living room where he was relieved to see Jesse hadn’t bolted, and was still lying with a dazed expression. Jesse had tucked himself back into his clothes but had a hand flung over his eyes and his chest was rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. Walt felt his cock twitch again and he ignored it, going back over to sit beside Jesse.

 

Jesse straightened up a bit when he felt Mr. White sit down next to him. They sat side by side, almost in a parody of how this evening had started.

 

He could feel Mr. White’s gaze on him, and he turned towards him, registering the way Mr. White was breathing like he’d just run a marathon. He looked at him and then over to the door of the bathroom that was standing ajar.

 

“I could have done that, you know,” he said tentatively, hoping he didn’t sound like a kid who was being dismissed from the big kid’s table. And he would have done it too, he wasn’t just saying it. I mean Jesus that had been… _Jesus_.

 

Mr. White just shrugged. “Not necessary.” He peered at Jesse, assessing him.

 

Jesse felt awkward. “What?”

 

Mr. White frowned. “Jesse are you,” he swallowed tightly and finished, “you okay?” he asked.

 

Jesse huffed out an absent laugh. “Yeah man. I mean…’okay’ is maybe not the word I’d have chosen for, for _that_ , but…I’m good,” he said softly.

 

Mr. White didn’t seem convinced. He looked preoccupied and was holding himself stiffly like he _expected_ Jesse was staying…but that there was still a chance Jesse would take off.

 

“I just…I want to be sure, Jesse. You’ve had a lot to process today. I mean do you want to,” Walt closed his eyes and resigned himself to getting out the words. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked ironically.

 

Jesse blushed furiously but he was pretty sure he detected the sparest bit of humour under the words. So Mr. White wasn’t mad at least, there was that.

 

“No I - I guess not?” He didn’t exactly speak with conviction though. Walt sighed and shifted closer to him. Jesse bit his lip, the air between them still fairly charged.

 

“Look, Jesse you’ve…you’ve had a lot to think about and I don’t blame you,” Mr. White said, shaking his head. “I mean you had a shock and that would leave anyone feeling,” he waved his hand a bit. “Emotional.”

 

Jesse stared at him. “Horny. The word you’re looking for is ‘horny’, Mr. White.”

 

Mr. White blushed and cleared his throat. “Well…you’re not wrong, Jesse. It can be a natural response for a lot of people.”

 

“Including you,” Jesse said frankly, testing Mr. White, ignoring how the action sped his heart rate up a bit.

 

Mr. White lifted a hand, opening his mouth. He dropped it back to the couch and met Jesse’s eyes.

 

“Yes,” he said directly. Jesse swallowed.

 

“But Jesse,” he lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone. “I don’t _regret_ doing this. I’m not saying it’s something that should have happened _sooner_ , or if there’ll be any need for it again, but I mean…if it helped you even at all – “

 

Jesse wanted to argue that it wasn’t his _dick_ that had needed helping. But he couldn’t deny the fact that…well…he _did_ feel better. Strangely so. He felt…even. He’d already felt improved after Mr. White had talked him down the first time, leaving him feeling relatively balanced.

 

He felt like he should probably be freaking out a lot more that it took an orgasm on top of Mr. White to drive the feeling home but…he wasn’t?

 

“Look I – I agree. That was – that was good,” he said, clearing his throat, cheeks feeling warm. “I mean…I’m not saying we should like, add it to one of the steps in the _cook_ from now on or anything,” and smiled when Mr. White snorted. “But yeah I think today it was – “ Jesse shrugged. “It was good.”

 

Mr. White nodded. “Well…good. You needed that,” he added quietly.

 

If he had said it anymore insistently then Jesse might have doubted him. Had Walt been pushy about it Jesse would have reacted differently. Pulled away and second-guessed Mr. White, resentful at being told what it was he needed.

 

But Mr. White spoke so lightly, with such simple conviction that the words slipped into Jesse, filling him up, reverberating through him and causing his head to nod along in agreement. Even if it wasn’t something he’d have said he needed at the time…he couldn’t imagine this not having happened.

 

“So…we’re still okay though, right?” Jesse asked, trying not to sound too anxious. This had been such an otherwise steady period with Mr. White, a calm in the center of the storm that was normally everything they were. After everything they’d been through, this wasn’t something he could risk slipping through his fingers.

 

Which is why he was immediately relieved when Mr. White smiled at him. “Of course, Jesse.” He stretched a bit. “And whatever you do decide…I know you’ll do the right thing. And I’ll still be here. You’re gonna be okay.”

 

And he clapped Jesse once on the shoulder, glancing at his watch. Frowning he tapped it with a finger muttering, ‘stupid thing’. And he glanced around the room, eyes falling on a clock that was mounted on the wall.

 

“Should be ready by now. Back to work?” he asked Jesse easily, the words a weight off Jesse’s mind. And nodding his assent he stretched like Mr. White just had, and they both got up to head back into the tent.

 

 

***

 

Jesse was…okay he was a _little_ nervous about the next time they’d see each other.

 

He knew he had to tell Andrea. Not about Mr. White, oh hell no. But just breaking it off in general.

 

Watching her and Brock and how easily they fit into his house…oh god Jesse was so tempted to not say a thing, to let them keep this facsimile of a family, no matter how many secrets had gone into its formation.

 

But sitting on the couch with Andrea later at night while Brock was between them he just…he couldn’t not. Andrea had craned her neck to look at him.

 

“You okay?” she’d asked in concern.

 

Jesse was hit with such a strong sense of déjà vu, being there on opposite ends of a couch with someone, someone asking if he was okay, and everything _that_ had led to. For one ridiculous second he thought she might _know_.

 

But of course she had no way of knowing. All she saw was Jesse, preoccupied. She had no reason to suspect that he’d been imagining the person on the other end of the couch as Mr. White, and was remembering every detail of that last encounter.

 

He didn’t feel guilty about it happening on their behalf…his and Mr. White’s, that is. They were cool. At least apparently. But he felt _so_ guilty for Andrea. Looking at her sitting there on the couch, no clue what her boyfriend had gotten up to earlier while he’d been sitting in the exact same position across from someone else. Even if there was some way to make drug manufacturing into something justifiable, something Andrea might be willing to turn a blind eye to…nothing could rationalize him – Jesse took a breath – effectively cheating on her.

 

Well. Sort of. Hell, Jesse didn’t even know what to call it. Okay yes, _technically_ he had done that with Mr. White but I mean…it was _Mr. White_. Out of all the fucked up situations they’d put themselves in, this was _hardly_ the top of the list. It was just one more thread that had been woven into whatever the hell their relationship was.

 

But he couldn’t expect Andrea to see it that way.

 

And while he couldn’t tell her _that_ , he couldn’t tell her nothing. He’d wait until Brock went to bed. And then he’d do the right thing, like Mr. White had said he would.

 

So as hard as that had been with Andrea, his next encounter with Mr. White had been surprisingly easy. They were meeting with Mike to divide up the profits from this test-run batch for the new set up. It had been cooked just like any of their others, same procedure they’d used for the past year. But it still felt incredibly different, just because of everything else that had surrounded its making. Or maybe that was Jesse’s imagination getting away with him again.

 

But even so, he and Mr. White were good. They’d greeted each other easily and were entirely civil. Mr. White was polite to him, even thanking Jesse for his loan in starting them up. They were good, they could do this.

 

It helped that any lingering awkwardness Mr. White might or might not have been harboring seemed to all be directed at Mike. Jesus, did they even see how ridiculous they were with each other? In some ways they were worse than Mr. White and Jesse had been when _they’d_ first teamed up…the key difference being that Mr. White and Mike were both supposed to be adults.

 

Jesse did his best to keep things light, to diffuse the situation before it could actually become one. But watching Mr. White grow more puffed up the more his pile of money dwindled, Jesse couldn’t help an unrelated stab of worry. Mr. White wasn’t happy. And while Mike didn’t seem concerned, he didn’t know Mr. White like Jesse did, the way Mr. White could get about money and everything it represented.

 

But Mike finally took off and they were left to pack up their own shares, avoiding the elephant in the room. Which is why Jesse was surprised when Mr. White brought it up first, walking up to where Jesse was waiting for him by the door, asking “How you feeling?” in a knowing tone.

 

“Okay I guess,” Jesse answered honestly. “Broke it off with Andrea,” he admitted, knowing he’d have to tell Mr. White sooner or later. “I had to.”

 

And okay, here’s the thing. He wasn’t telling Mr. White because he expected anything else from him, for anything else to happen between _them_. He was telling him because Jesse wasn’t a kid, he could have a mature discussion.

 

But Mr. White didn’t have to blow him off completely, holding up his bag of money, going “I was talking about _this_. How you feeling about the money?”

 

Seriously? Not that Jesse had been telling him he’d ended things with Andrea because he was _implying_ something, hinting at anything. But Mr. White was acting like he’d just suggested they go back to his place and was trying to deflect Jesse without mentioning the subject.

 

Jesse looked at him in disbelief. But he swallowed his irritation. If Mr. White wanted to talk business he could talk business, it was something he knew, oh, maybe a _little_ bit about. He had more experience with profits and distribution than Mr. White, thank you very much, something the dude tended to forget more often than not.

 

He thought they were going to avoid the subject altogether. But Mr. White did manage to bring it up. In his own way.

 

For crying out loud, couldn’t he just talk to Jesse straight? He didn’t need some long-winded reminiscing over Victor to talk about a simple subject.

 

He listened to Mr. White talk to him about, ‘taking liberties that weren’t his to take. Maybe he flew too close to the sun.’ Jesus, Jesse could take a hint already. It wasn’t happening again. And he didn’t need the bonus ‘got his throat cut’ for any emphasis either.

 

Once upon a time Jesse might have smiled and shook his head at Mr. White’s fondness for overly dramatic metaphors. Instead he just felt cold.

 

But even Mr. White seemed to think he’d gone too far in adding the unnecessary splash of red to the picture he was trying to paint for Jesse. He sent an apologetic look Jesse’s way and shook his head clear of the image, before walking out leaving Jesse to close up.

 

Jesse stood in the shadows of the garage watching Mr. White heading away. Pushing the button to send the door down he stepped out and watched Mr. White’s retreating figure.

 

Well, that had been…well at least they were…okay?

 

Jesse stood there and stared at the ground, garage door rolling shut behind him. He was thinking hard. About him, about Mr. White…

 

When the door finally closed all the way, something made Jesse glance back up. It was Mr. White standing by the main gate of the lot, looking expectantly at Jesse over his shoulder, waiting for him.

 

Jesse bit his lip. Meeting Mr. White’s gaze from across the yard, he made a decision and stepped out of the shade of the garage.

 

Mr. White stood there until he was sure Jesse was walking towards him, and he turned away again. Jesse followed behind, and they both headed out into the sun.

 

And if he was flying too close, well…

 

Mr. White would let him know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If Walt/Jesse were ever to happen in the canon, this is my version of the when and how. It was interesting to dip into the actual canon itself after having just come off of an AU, and definitely much more of a challenge haha. So any feedback or criticism would be amazing! And thanks so much again:)
> 
> (and I've seen the 'good boy' thing a lot for this pairing, but my personal favourite use of it has to be from 'What You Need' by readishmael which you should all absolutely read because damn)
> 
> (and also 'Loaded' by Porkchop_Sandwiches is another great one that also uses themes of panic attacks for Jesse so check that one out as well!)


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